Cracked Pot
by Avalon Rouge
Summary: Inspirational One-Shot A story that explains it's okay to be different; The flaws you have make you who you are as an individual, and are never something you should be ashamed of. They should be recognized, as something good usually comes of it.


**Disclaimer:** This storyline is not my own. My mom used to tell us bedtime stories when my brothers and I were younger and I vaguely remembered the moral of this one. Since it has been so long since my mother told me bedtime stories, and I've never read the original "Cracked Pot" story, I made up most of the story (obviously keeping the important details that make this story and the moral).

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**_Written by Alexandria Noel a.k.a. Avalon Rouge © 2007_**

**Cracked Pot**

There was a small house set on the outskirts of a desolate village. This faded home provided shelter to a fisherman by the name of Finneas, and his wife Mary. Finneas was a middle aged man with brown, leather-beaten skin, dark tresses that began graying from old age, sharp hazel-brown eyes, and a protruding chin that apprehended chapped lips, pressed grimly into a thin line. Mary was a slender woman. Her slight yet curvaceous figure and beautiful green eyes made her quite an item back in the day. The daughter of the Blacksmith had chosen Finneas to take her hand in marriage at seventeen. Together, over the years, they had had two children, William and Ruth. Both had matured into adulthood and started families of their own. Finneas smiled a slight upturn of his lips as he recalled a memory of his children at a young stage of life.

He stared at two pots that sat in the corner of this small home, his forehead wrinkling in distaste as his eyebrows furled. "That darn heat wave is still hanging around from last week. The water is all dried up again."

"We best get some more. I only have but a small bucket left and that is to clean the dishes from breakfast," his wife told him as she rose from the wooden table set in the center of the room. He sighed, but got up from their small breakfast fire, dancing lazily in the hearth. He grabbed the two clay pots that sat in the corner and headed for the entrance of their residence. He slipped on his worn, rawhide and reed sandals and turned to Mary who took up a shawl and cloth pack.

"Are you headed for town?" Finneas had asked as he moved the flap, used as a door, for her to step out. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the ever brightening sun and turned to him with a warming smile.

"I am," she replied. "We need bread and fruit since we ran out just this morning."

"Alright. Just be careful on your way there and back." He kissed her cheek and headed south towards the mouth of the river while she took the north road to the village. The river was about a mile from their home and usually the walk went smoothly. But today, something seemed different or out of place. Finneas thought to himself and tried to put a finger on what it could be. He soon gave up, feeling as if he were searching for an answer that couldn't be found. He whistled a happy yet busy tune as he made his way down the foot trodden path. This land was a quantity of rock, pebble, clay and dirt. There were scant trees that provided anything but shade, and bushes that were scattered about the surface.

He neared the waters edge fairly quickly, eager to quench the thirst that developed while he walked along. When he found a spot, he placed the pots to the right of him and leaned over the rock edge that over looked the shallow part of the river. He did this and drank deeply, for on his walk, the sun beat down upon his back and pressed him to a slight point of dehydration. After he drank his fill, he took up the first pot. It was beautifully hand crafted, and looked as if it were only a year or two old. On the pot, it had ornate designs and figures that wove a rich story about a prince and princess. It was his wife's favorite decorative piece in their entire house hold. He dipped it into the water and filled it to the brim with the sparkling, clear and cool liquid. As he set it aside, he asked it to do what it could do best. The pottery stood great and tall, proud to be carrying water and providing for the fisherman and his family. Finneas grabbed the second pot and stooped to the waters edge once more. As he did so, he discovered what was bothering him on the way to the river. His second pot was upset over something and wasn't acting like its normal self. The second pot was old and showed no ornate decorations. It was merely made of white brown clay that had been heated to keep a shape. It's once glossy exterior was now a dull glow. To top off this simple pot, it had a large crack running a lightning shaped character down the front. It was usually so full of life despite its aged and ragged appearance. Finneas filled this pot to the brim with water and took them both onto each shoulder. As he held the first pot, it stood stout and scarcely dropped any water to the ground. The second pot however sagged in an unhappy manner as it watched the water it couldn't hold pour to the ground.

"Now what has gotten into you, little pot? You've never leaked this much," Finneas asked. It looked sad and gloomy as it responded.

"I am a pot with a crack down my front. I never am able to carry the water all the way home and I always manage to lose it all before we make it inside."

Finneas looked at him with knowing eyes and set the pots down. He said, "Little pot, I do not carry you back and forth from my house to the river for no reason. For you see, even though you may not bring water home, you try your hardest to carry all you can."

"But I still lose it all before we get home," the little pot complained.

"Yes, but did you notice your side of the road?" Finneas asked him. "Your side of the road has beautiful flowers growing, where as the other side does not. You let children play amongst flowers that would not have been there if you didn't have your cracked front."

The little pot turned and looked at the path that they had taken all these years. He did notice there were flowers on his side of the road. Pretty red flowers mixed in with yellows and three hues of blue grew on his side only.

Finneas grabbed the little pot and took him back to the river to refill him. Once he did so, he noticed that the little pot was once again stout and ready to take on the walk home. He grabbed the other one on his way back, and set them on his shoulders once more. The little pot whispered a 'Thank you', and heard Finneas reply, "Always remember little pot, you may not look like someone else, and you may not be as good at something as someone else is, but as long as you're trying your hardest, good results will always come of it."

The End

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AN: Just an Inspirational, feel good One-Shot. As I said in the disclaimer, I was told this story as a young girl and decided to keep it alive in my memory by typing it out. I wanted to post it to share it with anyone who needs a little picking up. Thanks for reading, and have a good day! xoxo

Avalon Rouge


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